


there's nothing to be said or done

by Theboys



Series: what a time to be alive [13]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Dirty Talk, Kid Fic, M/M, basketball player!Jared, journalist!jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 19:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13817775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: “You don’t get to keep doing this. He’s my son, too.”In which Jensen is overprotective and Jared's had enough.





	there's nothing to be said or done

“You’re not taking my child to Louisiana with every news outlet and drunk superfan on Earth.” Jensen crosses both arms over his chest and forces down a swell of rising nausea.

Jared’s sweating from practice, and he tugs his hair down from its high bun before putting it all back up again, neater than before.

“I’m not taking him to  _ war,  _ sweetheart,” Jared soothes, but Jensen will not be swayed. “Absolutely not. I know what goes on there. It’s hectic, and loud, and he’ll get too excited--” Jared snorts, tugging his jersey off in disgust.

“He’s three, Jen. He loves the team, loves cameras. I want him to see the All-Star game.”

“You mean you want him to see you play in the All-Star game,” Jensen mutters, and Jared grins, if a bit strained. “Of course I do,” he says, confused. “I don’t understand what your problem is. People bring their kids all the time.”

Jensen rubs both fists over his eyes and grits his teeth against the bile rising in his throat. He doesn’t feel like having this conversation. 

“No.”

Jared’s halfway turned to the shower and Jensen watches his spine stiffen.

“What?”

“I-I said, no,” Jensen repeats, less strongly than before.

“You don’t get to do that,” Jared says without turning around, back muscles taut under the strain of what Jensen is recognizing is quiet rage. “You don’t get to keep doing this. He’s my son, too.”

Jensen’s forehead is dotted with sweat and he swings out a palm to brace himself against the adjacent wall of their bedroom.

“I almost  _ died  _ having him,” Jensen hisses, and he knows that’s the wrong thing to say as soon as the words leave his mouth, but it’s too late to call them back.

Jared makes a strangled sound, unlike anything Jensen’s ever heard before, and he changes course, headed for the doorway.

“Jay. Jared. W-wait a second--” 

“He’s coming with me. You can come after they finish the renovations, like we planned, or not at all. I don’t care.” Jared slams their door behind him, 200+ pounds of pure, unadulterated force, and it rattles two mirrors in the room.

Jared’s never sounded like that, not ever, and Jensen’s done some poorly advised things in the past.

He already feels like a moron, but now he’s hyperventilating and Logan’s going to be home from the park any minute and it’s so  _ stupid  _ to fight over something like this.

He sits in the middle of the floor with his head in his hands, anyway.

-

“Where Daddy?” Is the first thing Logan says as Lauren, his nanny, deposits him in Jensen’s arms.

Jensen’s halfway facing his desktop, pounding away at the final piece concerning who has the greater odds to win: Team LeBron or Team Steph, when Logan latches onto his neck with all the grace of a koala.

“Papa,” he squeals, laughing when Jensen removes one hand from the keyboard to tickle his sides. He’s growing quickly for his age, and Jensen frowns at the lack of baby fat on accessible ribs. They’ll have to start feeding him more since he loves to run around so much.

He’s already opening a new tab to look up dieticians when Logan pops him in the cheek with a suspiciously sticky fist.

“I wanna go see Dway and Teph,” he gurgles, squeezing his blond head underneath Jensen’s chin, a tighter fit than just a few months ago.

“Daddy’s not home right now, baby,” Jensen consoles, and catches the heel of one Jordan before it inadvertently pops him in the side, borne of practice.

Logan’s momentarily nonplussed, but soon recovers with the resilience of children with limited attention spans. 

“You wanna play, Papa?” Logan asks, blinking unfairly dewy eyes. Jensen’s the one that makes sure Logan’s dressed appropriately for the weather, in bed at the right time and generally well-fed, but, somehow, Jared’s the stricter of the two.

“Can you give me a second?” Jensen sighs, categorically unable to refuse his child anything. Logan squirms contentedly, motionless for a solid thirty seconds before smacking both tiny palms on the keys Jensen’s currently not typing on.

_ Team LeBron’s starters consistently outscore and outpace those on Team Steph, if you appraise triple-doubles individually with the aid of longitudinal research  _ becomes a hodge-podge of letters that Jensen may not be able to fix.

“Sweetheart,” Jensen sighs, and suddenly Logan’s shoving at the cage of his arms in order to get down, and Jensen knows Jared’s in the room.

“Logan,” Jared admonishes, and Jensen instinctively curls one hand around his kid’s stomach in order to halt his forward progress. He just got a haircut recently, and his hair stands in soft blond spikes, almost identical to Jensen’s platinum hair as a child.

“Papa’s working, you know that.” Jared’s got good humor in his voice, but somehow Jensen knows it’s solely directed at their progeny.

Logan makes a pitiful face, pink mouth scrunched up in dismay and he reaches his arms up, fists grabbing at air.

Jared holds firm, and Jensen laughs quietly, forever astounded at Jared’s ability to withstand that face.

Logan gives up after a second, and whirls around, slapping palms on Jensen’s thigh. “Sowwy, Papa,” he says, mostly contrite, and Jensen will take it. He kisses the crown of Logan’s head and Jared bends over double and tosses Logan over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Logan screams in delight and Jensen holds two trembling hands together.

He’s never been good at making the first move after a fight, and Jared looks as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

“Let me know what you decide,” he says to Jensen, still without initiating eye contact. Logan is oblivious to the tension, already chattering about what he did at the park.

Jensen watches them leave and it leaves a bad taste in his mouth, which meets the toilet immediately after.

-

Jared comes to bed much later than usual, and Jensen’s lucky he’s a light enough sleeper to wake when his husband’s bulk settles on his side.

Jensen tries to make some kind of sound, but Jared sighs before he can work up the air.

“Go back to sleep, Jensen,” he whispers, and Jensen blames hormones for the sudden onslaught of tears.

Jared’s palm comes down heavy on the nape of his neck, and Jensen can’t think, squirms backwards until the crease of his ass is resting against his husband’s dick.

It’s Jared’s turn to make a noise, which sounds half aroused and half pained.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Jared whispers, sounding terribly loud in the midst of avoidance.

Jensen pushes back again, sliding his hands down his stomach and into the waistband of his sleep pants in order to shove them down his thighs.

Jared’s groan is louder this time, and Jensen dares to go for the low blow.

“Do y-you not want me?” He says softly, twisting his neck backwards so that it rests against Jared’s collarbone.

Jared’s palm slaps down sharply on his hip, turning into a punishing grip as he drags Jensen’s ass backwards so that it settles firmly against the warm brand of his dick.

“Jesus, Jen. How the fuck could I not?” He sounds gutted, absolutely broken, and Jensen pushes his own palms down on his side of the bed in order to rock backwards. 

It’s a dry drag, and Jared humps forward, both still caught on their sides.

“What do you want,” Jared says, helpless, and it lights Jensen up inside, that he reduces Jared to this. 

“Whatever you want,” Jensen counters, and Jared’s hand tightens so sharply that Jensen knows he’s going to be bruised come morning.

“On your stomach,” Jared says, and he flips Jensen bodily, with the ease of strength and practice. Jared knocks his legs open, so wide that his pelvis aches from the strain.

Jensen twists his neck back in order to catch his husband’s face, and arches his ass up, just-so. Jared grabs at his dick at the sight, strangling it at the base.

“You like that?” Jensen dares, and Jared’s hand snakes up his spine and curves around to his throat. “Stop talking,” he threatens, and he’s already restricting Jensen’s airway enough so as to make it impossible.

He loves it, the hot press of his husband’s hand, the spots dancing in front of his vision, the wet slap of Jared’s dick against the crease of his ass.

“You know what I like,” Jared mutters, emptying his words into the space between them. 

“You already know I like the way you look when I bruise you up,” Jared continues, unimpeded.

Their bedside drawer jerks open, and Jensen can tell without sight that its contents are halfway onto the floor.

It’s wet and slick when Jared’s fingers return to his hole, and he gasps through the squelch and burn as Jared works two digits up on in there, no preamble.

Jensen’s knees and back shake with the arch of his spine, Jared’s hand still closed around his neck.

Jared scissors quickly, one-two-three, lube dripping down toward his perineum. Jared’s palm slaps against Jensen’s ass as he works him open, murmuring obscenities too lowly for Jensen to make out. 

Jared removes his hand suddenly, and Jensen hauls in denied air. “Fuckmefuckmefuckme,” he chants, breathless, and Jared drags his hips upwards and secures his wrists, an X against the small of his back.

Jensen rests on his face, his cheeks, mouth wide against the bedspread.

“God _ damn”  _ Jared grunts as he shoves forward, one long push, no pause. Jensen’s cry is soundless in his throat, plugged up with dick so rapidly he goes lightheaded.

“I could fuck you all day, all night,” Jared says, voice rising. Jensen wants to remind him that Logan’s asleep nearby, but he can’t even remember how to form words.

“You know that, though, right?” Jared says, slick drag of cock, the harsh, wet slap of his thighs against Jensen’s ass. He transfers his palm from hip to Jensen’s ass, cracking down against the skin with a sharp slap.

Jensen makes a sound now, hungry, desperate.

Jared laughs, a strange cadence of his normal tenor. “You know exactly what you do to me,” Jared says with finality, and Jensen shoves backwards with the little leverage he has.

“Please,” he begs, “make me come, please--” Jared spanks him again, alternates between cheeks just to watch them jiggle, fat and bruised against the paddle of his hand.

“This is what I like,” Jared continues, unfiltered. “I like you sore--that’s it, fuck, yes,” he says, voice dissolving as Jensen twists his hips, tears staining the sheets.

Jared blows without warning, releasing his wrists for one prolonged stroke against the crown of Jensen’s dick.

Jensen comes with a strangled cry, half-shocked that such minor stimulation pushed him over the edge. Jared pulls out before he collapses in a heap and Jensen wants to talk, but he can’t seem to open his eyelids.

“You’re the most frightening thing in my life,” he hears, a brush on the edge of his consciousness.

-

Jared’s gone in the morning, and the only indication he was ever there is the come leaking from Jensen’s abused asshole.

He’s wobbly as he stands, and he barely makes it to the toilet in time to empty himself of stomach bile.

It’s late in the morning and he can already hear Logan chattering about something or other to Lauren when his son’s soliloquy trips into screams of delight.

Jensen pulls on a GS sweatshirt and a pair of shorts and heads downstairs, pale and worse for the wear.

Chad’s just inside the foyer, Logan attached to his neck, head thrown back in glee.

“Unca Chad!” He screams, and Chad blows a raspberry into Logan’s cheek. “Big guy! You ready to go on a trip?”

Jensen remembers the plan. The All-Star game is tomorrow and Chad is taking Logan so that Jensen can monitor the renovations on the house before he meets up with them all tomorrow afternoon.

“Papa! We going on a trip!” Logan’s bags are already packed, and he’s in an oversized jersey, Jared’s number in bold yellow on the back.

“We gonna see Daddy!” he crows, and Lauren rounds the corner, looking slightly frazzled. “I’ll put him in his carseat,” she says, sighing fondly as Logan reaches out for her in expectation.

“You got snacks?” he’s asking, and Lauren chuckles as she hitches him against her hip and turns toward the Benz wagon Chad’s driving to the airport. “Not before breakfast!” Jensen yells after them, followed by a chorus of “Yes, Papas,” that make him grin to himself.

Chad eyes him speculatively for a second, uncharacteristically silent.

“What’d you say to him?” Chad says, finally, arms crossed over his chest. Jared is his best friend.

“Nothing,” Jensen says, tiredly, and Chad snorts.

“He called me at four am, crying,” Chad says bluntly, rolling a crick out of his neck.

Jensen’s eyes widen and he wraps both arms around his waist. He can count on one hand the amount of times Jared’s allowed himself to cry.

Jensen shakes his head, helpless. “I didn’t want Lo to go,” he mutters, and Chad’s already shaking his head. 

“Wasn’t that. You’ve always been a helicopter mom,” Chad teases, and Jensen rubs at his forehead. 

“I was n-nervous. There’s a lot of people, and he said I couldn’t keep doing this, and I told him I almost died having Logan, so, of  _ course  _ I was fucking scared--” he falls silent at the horrified look that Chad’s sporting.

It’s silent between them, awfully, heavily, and Jensen’s close to fainting, vision fading in and out.

Chad’s hand is at his elbow, grounding. 

“You need to apologize to him,” Chad says, so firmly that Jensen’s nodding before the words are even completing.

Logan runs up the back of Jensen’s legs, winding small arms around his Papa’s calves, and Jensen sways as he connects the dots.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> surprise


End file.
